


I See Fire, Hollowing Souls

by thetidesisrising



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Established Relationship, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Keenler - Freeform, Mentions of Sexual Assault, The Cook AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 09:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14257629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetidesisrising/pseuds/thetidesisrising
Summary: The Cook 5x12 AU; It's been two-and-a-half years since Tom's death, and Liz is only just beginning to find a new semblance of normal both in her life and in her relationship with Ressler. This newfound serenity is threatened, however, when the task force investigates an arsonist with a vendetta against women.





	I See Fire, Hollowing Souls

**Author's Note:**

> I really cannot recall why I jumped at the chance to write an AU for The Cook, but apparently past me had good reason for it. I apologize for the episode-heavy dialogue in the first bit, but I promise that this takes a different twist than the actual episode. Also! Just a casual reminder that you canned me prompts over at my tumblr, cesraeborgia, and I will be more than delighted to write for you. I hope you guys enjoy this one, and as always, it's not edited, so please review!!!!

The door to his office swung open, and Ressler glanced up from his paperwork to greet his partner.

“I got us coffee,” she said, closing the door behind her before walking over to his desk and handing him a cup.

He took a sip and smiled gratefully.

“Thanks.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I talked to Reddington; he’s given us a case.”

He could sense there was something she was holding back, her gaze adverting his as she rocked back on her heels. He took a step towards her, leaning in slightly in an effort to coax the rest of the story out of her. She bit her lip in response, raising her chin to meet his eyes.

“He wants me to go with him to track down a separate lead.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What, Reddington can’t go on errands without a babysitter anymore?”

He was surprised when she didn’t respond to his joke, her expression remaining grave.

“He has a lead about one of Tom’s killers, Don,” she said softly. “He’s found someone who can analyze Navarro’s glass eye.”

In the two and a half years since Tom’s death, the task force remained bereft of a single lead. After waking from her year-long coma, Liz returned to her position on the task force, and slowly, with Ressler’s help, she began to find a semblance of a new normal. After months of late evening sanity check-ins at his apartment and numerous boxes of take out, their relationship finally progressed to something more. If Ressler were entirely honest, the last three months were the best months of his life. He knew, however, that their relationship could never fully progress unless she received closure on Tom’s killers. As much as she tried to suppress that aching, murderous revenge within her, her vehement choler seeped through the cracks of her cool façade. Her violent jealousy and her crazed possessiveness of him were mere glimmers of the raging torrent beneath, and he feared the extent to which she would go if he were in danger; she had lost one man she loved to a criminal; she was adamant she would not lose another.

His expression became more somber, and he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

“Do what you have to do, Liz,” he said, running his thumb along her cheekbone.

Her eyes flickered to his, and she seemed to hesitate for a moment before surging foreword, her lips devouring his in an unusual display of passion. He responded enthusiastically, his thumb caressing the small of her back while she pressed closer to him. After a minute she pulled back, resting her hands upon his shoulders. Her eyes were brimmed with unbound fear, the short, gasps of breath she drew were laced with panic.

“Please be careful, Don,” she gasped, her fingers grasping his shoulders. “I can’t help but have this terrible feeling.”

He looked at her in concern, his brow furrowing as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

“It’s just another day at work, Liz,” he said in reassurance. “We clock in, kick ass, lock up some bad guys, clock out, pick up Agnes from daycare, then swap stories over a bottle of Pinot Noir and a spaghetti dinner back home.”

She responded with a small smile, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced.

“You’ll have the better stories anyway,” he added, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You’ll get to tell me all about Reddington’s astounding gap of technological knowledge.”

Her smile widened and she let out a small laugh. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before releasing her. Opening their office door, he carved a path to the center of the war room. Aram, Cooper, and Samar were already waiting for them, and Samar greeted them with a small smile.

“Who do we got?” Cooper asked.

Liz cleared her throat.

“Reddington calls him the Cook. He’s an arsonist and a murderer. Last night a husband and wife were killed in a house fire. An accelerant was found, but no motive or suspect, but Reddington’s convinced this was a murder by arson.”

“Does he know how many fires?” Aram asked.

“Or how many victims?” Ressler added.

“No and no.”

“But he says this “Cook” is a serial killer posing as an arsonist?” Ressler asked.

“And yet he can’t ID the Cook, and the only fire he’s told us about is one that arson investigators don’t believe is a homicide,” Cooper stated.

Ressler smirked, raising his eyebrows in mirth.

“I suppose Reddington knows better.”

“No,” Samar said, her eyes narrowing in concentration. “But I suppose he knows someone who does.”

“Earl Faygan,” Liz confirmed.

Aram raised his head in recognition.

“The arson investigator slash arsonist?”

“Fagan hid in plain sight for years, was lead investigator on a dozen of the fires that he set,” Cooper said. “No one knows more about fire or the men and women who set them.”

“Reddington says that he can help us find the Cook,” Liz said.

Ressler, who by now was immensely amused, couldn’t help but give a full-fledged smirk.

“What’s the catch?”

He could see Liz refrain from laughing at his obvious amusement, and his smile turned more endearing.

“Fagan is up for parole,” Liz said, schooling her features into a blank slate. “He helps us, Reddington would like us to help him.”

Cooper shook his head.

“I don’t like it. But if there’s a serial killer out there…”

“We don’t need a firebug to find him,” Samar said.

“Less than 15% of all arson cases are ever solved,” Ressler added, now back to his typical stoicism. “Maybe we need the help.”

Cooper nodded, satisfied with his lead agent’s observation.

“I’ll reach out to main justice, see if they can get a court order to get Fagan at the scene of last night’s fire. If he helps us get the Cook, maybe, maybe, we’ll put in a good word. If not, we’ll make sure he stays put.”

The agents nodded in response, and Cooper turned towards his office.

“Director Cooper!” Liz called.

He paused, turning to face her.

“Yes?”

“Reddington wants me to go with him to track down a lead on Tom’s case.”

Cooper looked at her in sympathetic understanding.

“Ressler and Navabi should be fine; go, and let me know what you find.”

She nodded.

“Thank you, sir.”

-

“This is the world we live in now; I suppose we have to trust it.”

Liz rolled her eyes at Reddington’s melodrama, turning away from him to focus on the boy’s computer screen. She was almost immediately distracted her phone ringing.

“Keen,” she answered.

“How’s the old man holding up?”

She smiled, her expression warming at the sound of Ressler’s voice.

“Apparently he’s never seen Star Wars.”

A sharp cough interrupted his laughter.

“Are you getting a cold?” she asked, her voice full of worry.

“Nah,” he responded. “Just ran into some trouble earlier.”

Apparently he was on speaker phone, as Samar huffed.

“If trouble is getting trapped in a burning building and having to crawl out of a window to avoid a near death experience, then yeah, I suppose so.”

Liz froze. She could feel that profound, brazen panic from earlier bubble up in her chest and into her throat, her chest beginning to heave as her lungs attempted to dislodge the bubbles from her swollen throat. The dizziness in her head produced an intoxicating fog, muddling the sounds around her with images of Tom choking on his own blood as he bled out in front of her and Ressler choking on smoke as flames ignited his chest. The images were overwhelming her; she could feel herself choke on the bubbles as she desperately gasped for air. She needed to remember to breathe. She needed to remember…

“Liz!”

Ressler’s voice burst the bubbles in her throat, the air returning to her as she staggered in relief.

“God, Don, I told you to be careful!”

She meant to sound stern, but her voice cracked on the last word.

“Liz! Liz!” he said, his tone slightly betraying the depth of his concern. “Samar’s just over exaggerating. We ran into some trouble at the guy’s safe house but it was nothing the two of us couldn’t handle. He set fire to the place to keep us from getting any real leads, but we got out unscathed; the coughing is just a side effect of the smoke exposure. I’m fine. I’ll tell you all about it tonight over that bottle of Pinot Noir.”

She tried to focus on the soothing sound of his voice, on the smell of his cologne as he wrapped his arms around her in their bed, on the feeling of being utterly and incandescently safe as he swallowed all her paranoia and anger whole.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for overreacting.”

She could envision him shaking his head, his expression melting into one of utter devotion.

“Don’t ever apologize Liz, you’ve had a hell of a go of it recently.”

She could feel the tears begin to well up in her eyes.

“What is it transmitting?” Reddington asked behind her.

“Our location!” Tadashi exclaimed.

Liz’s eyes widened at the boy’s voice, and she spun around to assess the situation.

“Hey Don, I’ve got to go, a situation’s arising. I’ll see you at home tonight, okay? I just have to stop by my apartment to grab some pajamas; Scottie’s got Agnes tonight.”

“Alright Liz, be safe. I love you.”

She smiled.

“I love you too, Don.”

-

After narrowly escaping the clutches of Tom’s killer, Liz found herself strolling the side walk outside Reddington’s building, desperately trying to quell the panic inside her remaining from Ressler’s call. That feeling of profound dread fermenting inside her mirrored the feeling of absolute helplessness she experienced the day leading up to Tom’s death.

_“Just breathe Liz.”_

She smiled warmly as Ressler’s voice rang through her ears, the phrase reminding her of autumnal days in his cabin with flannels and red wine. They would go down to his cabin for the weekends in the fall, and when she had nightmares – bloody, terrible nightmares – he would wrap her tightly in his arms and press his lips to her hair, whispering for her to breathe.

She was brought out of her musings by the sound of a car swerving. She started, looking up just in time to see a bald man lurch out of the road, just narrowly avoiding the swerving car. She ran over to him, placing a hand on his arm.

“Are you okay!?” she exclaimed, reaching for her phone to dial 911.

He glared at her vacantly, though his gaze flittered between her eyes and her hand on his arm; Liz thought he was in shock. She looked him over for injury as she unlocked her phone, noting his clerical collar. By now, a small crowd of people were beginning to gather.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly.

He trembled slightly, then blinked, as if Liz’s voice woke him.

“Uhh Tommy, Tommy Wattles.”

“Tommy, are you okay? Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes remaining mostly vacant, the edges brimming with anxiety.

“I’ll be fine, thank you Miss…”

“Keen,” she supplied. “Elizabeth Keen.”

She withdrew her hand from his arm and smiled warmly.

“I hope you have a good rest of your day, Tommy, and be careful!”

He nodded, gulping as she turned, walking back towards Reddington’s building. The sinking feeling from earlier was returning with a vengeance, and she could not help but feel a most dreadful sense of foreboding.

-

After spending the remaining hours of the afternoon in Reddington and Tadashi’s company, she decided to quickly stop by her apartment to pick up some clothes before heading to Ressler’s. Once they started dating, Liz spent most of her time in Ressler’s apartment, where she focused on making newer, happier memories with Ressler instead of lingering on the more sinister moments in her past. She still had her and Tom’s apartment, and it was only within the last few weeks that she began talking to Ressler about selling it. It seemed the wounds of that portion of her life were finally beginning to heal.

She dialed his number once she arrived, walking into her bedroom to change into pajamas. He picked up on the second ring.

“Ressler.”

“Hey babe,” she said coyly, a wide smile playing at her lips.

“Hi sweetheart,” he replied.

Her heart glowed.

“I just wanted to call to let you know that I’m stopping at my apartment to pack up some more clothes,” she said, pressing the phone closer to her ear as she removed her bra.

“I’m glad you did,” he responded. “I’m going to be a little late home tonight. We’ve got a lead on the Cook.”

She stopped rummaging through her underwear drawer to focus on him.

“How’s that going?”

“Pretty good. We got an ID on him, he’s a priest, or at least he was. He was stripped of his clerical title about a year ago. The church thinks he’s got some kind of a vendetta out against women he believes are out to “tempt” him.”

She hummed in acknowledgement.

“Which means he’s had personal encounters with his victims,” she supplied.

“Exactly.”

At this point she sat down on the corner of the bed, her back facing the doorway, crossing her legs in contentment.

“Well, I had an encounter with a priest earlier as well.”

“Really?”

She could envision him raise his eyebrows in amusement.

“Yeah, the poor guy nearly got run over outside of Reddington’s building. I went over to check on him, he was fine, just seemed a little shaken. I think we should go stop by his church on Sunday, just to see if he’s doing any better. I think his name was Tommy Wattles.”

Ressler’s breath hitched, and she felt her chest grow cold in terror.

“Liz! You need to get out of there now! Wattles is the –”

She gasped as she felt rough arms grope her waist and chest, snaking up her body towards her mouth. She struggled against him, helplessly attempting to gain the upper hand. She screamed as a hand ran across her bare breast before muffling her mouth, the other hand knocking her phone from her arms as he pinned them behind her. She could hear Ressler yelling for her, vehemently begging to hear her voice.

“Hello Elizabeth,” Wattles crooned. He inclined his head towards her phone. “I see your boyfriend couldn’t make it.”

He grasped her roughly against him, nudging her towards the sitting room.

“I need you to come with me, love.”

She screamed again, succeeding in kicking him.

He grabbed her harder, pushing her through the doorway.

“Come on, Elizabeth! Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth please. Sweetheart oh, why do you dress like this, hmm?”

At the mention of her state of undress Liz began to cry, her chest convulsing as she desperately gasped for breath.

“Let’s find you some clothes, okay?”

His lips harassed her ear, and she continued to sob as he thrust her into a chair, gagging her and wrapping her in plastic wrap. When he was finished he circled her like a vulture stalking its prey.

“It’s ironic you found me the way you did, on that road, in a moment of weakness” he began, creeping towards her. “Trying to offer your flesh. It felt more like a sign than a test, really. Through you, I could feel my calling to God was solidified.”

Liz tried to focus on what he was saying, knowing that she should be trying to exploit a weakness, but there, sitting in a chair in the room where Tom died, all she could do was witness his stabbing over and over again, her mind on some sort of calamitous loop.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice muffled.

He lashed forwards to kiss her and she bit him. He recoiled, struck by her action. He slapped her; she screeched in response. She continued to cry while he drenched his clothing and struck a match, the first smoke tendrils amassing within the room. At the sight of smoke, she began to hyperventilate; she was swept back to the earlier image of Ressler choking on smoke as he fought to breathe, flames igniting his chest as he burned at her feet, incapable of saving her.

She was subconsciously aware of a commotion outside of her apartment, but the images were too blinding, and she was not fully aware of her surroundings until Ressler kicked the door in.

“Get away from her!” he bellowed, gun pointed at Wattles’ head.

If she were aware enough, she would have noticed his seething rage, his skin an achingly boiling red. If she were not so enamored with the terror of losing him she would have recognized that there was a profound panic in the blue of his eyes, mingled with shades of brash vengeance. Just behind and slightly to the right, Samar was poised in Liz’s usual spot, calm and collected, the eye of Ressler’s volatile storm.

“It’s over Tommy,” she said firmly, her eyes fixated on the matches in his hands. “Drop the matches.”

Wattles was desperate, his arms flailing.

“She!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards Liz.

“Elizabeth, she taunted me with her sex!”

At the mention of Liz’s name, Ressler stepped forward, his jaw clenching harder. Samar softly, but firmly, placed an arm across his chest, barring him. His gaze flickered between rage and concern as it passed between Wattles and Liz.

“Tommy I know you’re hurting but this is not the way. Put the matches down.”

Wattles paused, and for a fraction of a moment Liz believed he would listen. But the moment quickly passed, and he struck a match.

“No!” Ressler yelled, firing a shot.

“Ressler, no!” Samar shouted, motioning for her team to crash upon the scene.

In her haze Liz saw Wattles collapse, dropping the still lit match to the fuel laden ground. She watched it ignite the floor, the flames rapidly approaching her feet. As she screamed she heard Ressler call her name, and the darkness abruptly took her.

-

She was aware of the wretched beeping of the hospital machinery first, her eyelids barely fluttering open as she struggled against the drug-induced sleep. She squinted against the violence of the light, wrinkling her nose at the effort.

“Liz?”

She glanced to her right, and was confused to discover Samar as the source of the question. For a moment she struggled to remember why she was there, her mind almost immediately returning to her hospital stay post Tom’s death. She dismissed the notion almost as soon as it came; there was an urgency about this stay that was different from her last. Scenes of smoke and fire flashed before her eyes, and she sharply inhaled to counteract the rush of adrenaline.

Samar saw as she began to work herself up, causing her to lean forward in an effort to soothe her.

“You’re safe, Liz. You’re in the hospital being treated for severe burns on your legs.”

Liz barely processed her injury before her thoughts turned to Ressler.

“Where’s Don?” she asked, her voice slightly rough.

At Samar’s lack of response, she began to panic, her eyes widening in fear.

“Is he hurt? Where-”

She was cut off by Samar’s chuckling.

“The similarities between the two of you are seemingly never ending,” she mused. “He’s fine, he just stepped outside to speak with your doctor. He should be back any minute.”

Within seconds of Samar’s reply, the door opened and he stepped into the room.

“Don!” Liz exclaimed, wriggling beneath the equipment in an effort to land herself into his arms.

He jolted at the sound of his name, his expression portraying profound relief.

“Liz,” he breathed, swiftly moving to her side and taking her in his arms.

She relaxed at the feel of his hands on her upper back, exhaling in relief as she closed her eyes. The feeling of safety in Ressler’s arms was one of which Liz could not describe, yet her drug-laden mind was enough to render a sinister edge in that feeling. She stiffened, and Ressler pulled back to run his fingers along her cheekbone.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, using her favorite endearment.

She began to sob, desperately trying to escape Ressler’s arms.

“Liz?” his voice took on an edge of concern.

“Get away from me!” she wailed, her arms flailing as she screamed.

At the sound of Liz’s duress, her nurse ran into the room, asking Samar to help her pin Liz down so she could inject her with a sedative. Liz’s screams began to reside, and before long she was rendered unconscious. Samar turned to Ressler, his expression clearly stricken by Liz’s reaction.

“What-what did I do wrong?” he stuttered, his eyes filled with pain.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Ressler,” Samar replied, her voice deliberately soft. “I watched the footage from her security cameras; Wattles called her sweetheart once he dominated her.”

After the attack on her apartment, Liz installed security cameras in the hopes of catching Tom’s killers if they returned to finish her off. Ressler could not bring himself to watch the footage from Liz’s violation. He failed at keeping his emotions in check during the raid, and he knew that watching the footage would only further enrage him, plaguing him with even more nightmares.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” he confessed, placing his head in his hands.

Samar stood, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Forward.”

She lightly squeezed his shoulder before heading out.

Liz remained unconscious for another four hours, and during that time, Ressler remained vigilant in a chair at her bedside. The sound of the machinery soothed him, and though he was still pained at Liz’s response, he found himself beginning to ease. He watched her wake before her eyes opened: the shifting of her visage from serenity to awareness, the furrowing of her eyebrows as she prepared to adjust to the light. He remained silent as she opened her eyes, her gaze slowly focusing on his.

“Don,” she whispered, reaching her arm towards him.

He hesitated, pulling back before she could brush his fingers with hers. He winced at the flash of hurt that crossed her face.

“Don, I’m so sorry,” she began. “It’s just _he_ called me that and I…”

She trailed off as she began to cry, and his heart broke for her. She shifted to one side of the bed as he approached her, allowing him to crawl in next to her and hold her tightly. He attempted to shush her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he held her close.

“You and I are going to be alright, Liz,” he said, as his eyelids drooped and he felt her begin to drift off.

“I love you.”

And in the dim, evening light, he heard her whisper: “I love you, too.”


End file.
